


Frozen Pines

by bombcollar



Category: Bugsnax (Video Game)
Genre: Cuddling, F/F, Nightmares, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:20:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29891382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bombcollar/pseuds/bombcollar
Summary: Eggabell still has nightmares.Fic and art commission I did for someone on tumblr.
Relationships: Eggabell Batternugget/Elizabert Megafig
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Frozen Pines

Eggabell frowns up at the ceiling. It seemed like every time she closed her eyes, it was another nightmarish memory. Everybody in town gathered around her, shouting at her, begging, pleading for her to do something while she lay paralyzed. The yawning maw of the stone door, opening into reddish darkness. The crawling, itching feeling under her skin whenever she went too long without snax. The jaws of the earth opening up, swallowing Liz, stones jutting like teeth from the sides of the fissure.

She finds one of Lizbert’s hands in the tangle of blankets, pressing her small paw to Liz’s larger, rougher pads. Liz’s fingers curl around it, claws completely enclosing Eggabell’s hand and wrist. So delicate, those talons. 

Liz was sleeping soundly, and Eggabell yearned to join her. They were in bed, at home, hundreds of miles from the island. She reminded herself of that. There would be no eyes glinting in the darkness, watching her as she studied the ruins by torchlight. Nothing could have followed her back, and nothing in the world could hurt her as long as she and Liz were together.

Doing her best not to jostle the bed too much, Eggabell scoots in closer to Lizbert, nuzzling into the shaggy fur of Liz’s chest. Liz smells clean, earthy, a scent that clung to their bed in their little Snaktooth bungalow such that Eggabell could not bear sleeping there alone. But she wasn’t alone now.

She’d try to rest, one more time, and if she couldn’t maybe she’d get her book light and read until the sun rose. Think about what to make them for breakfast. No sense tossing and turning and letting her mind wander to unpleasant places. Eggabell shuts her eyes and focuses on her breathing, on Lizbert’s warmth beside her.

* * *

The peak was home to many dangers, but blizzards were almost as deadly as the quakes. Snow whipping by nearly horizontal, whipping the pine trees so they bowed beneath the gale, so thick she couldn’t see mere feet in front of her face. It was easy to get disoriented, to lose her bearings, to forget which way was up or down. Eggabell knew better than to venture out in such conditions. She’d be no good at all to Liz if she got lost and froze to death.

Huddled in her igloo, she hears the wind wailing, sliced by the rocks. She’s hungry, but even the hardiest bugsnax would be hiding right now. All she can do is wait it out, and hope that the hours she’d lost were not too precious.

_“Bell.”_

It could be her imagination. She’d chided Gramble for insisting he saw things on the beach, but in her isolation, she’d felt it too, eyes on her back as she searched the frozen pines, footprints in the snow around her camp. They weren’t hers, but they weren’t Liz’s either. Loneliness did funny things to one’s mind, but she was no psychologist, so she tried to put it out of her thoughts and focus on the search.

_“Bell!”_

No. No, she definitely heard that. Eggabell gets on her hands and knees and moves some snow away from the entrance to the igloo. Icy wind blasts through the opening as soon as she clears it, but she puts her ear up to it anyway.

_“Eggabell, help me!”_

It was thin, twisted and distorted, but she’d know Lizbert’s voice anywhere. Eggabell claws at the snow, inviting more and more of the storm inside, dousing what little warmth she’d managed to collect in the small space. It didn’t matter, because if Liz was out there, if she was close enough to hear, Eggabell would find her. She couldn’t afford to wait until it was clear.   
  
She scrambles out of the igloo, eyes already watering from the cold and the dread rising inside her. “Liz!” she screams into the whiteout. “Liz, I’m coming! Stay where you are!”

_“Eggabell…”_ The voice is already fading. It seems to come from everywhere at once, carried on the storm. _“Eggabell, please…”_

“I’m coming!” Eggabell cries again, leaning into the wind as she starts walking. She knew the terrain around her camp. If she was careful, if she followed her markers, she’d make it back with Liz.

The chill stings her throat as she breathes in, snow catching in her fur and matting it, freezing it into clumps. She can barely keep her eyes open, the wind seeming to blow directly at her no matter which way she turned. But in spite of it, she keeps going. If she lost Liz, well. That was just as good as being dead.

She tries to follow Lizbert’s voice, but every step she takes, it only seems to get fainter. Now it could be mistaken only for the noise of the wind…

**_“Bell!”_ **

This time is different. It’s close, _so_ close, as if Liz was merely calling to her from outside their cottage. Eggabell breaks from her marked trail, staggering in the direction of Liz’s voice, wading through snow deeper than her knees. “I’m coming, Liz!” she calls, even as she stumbles and trips and gets up, ice clinging to her fur, weighing her down. Where was Liz? She’d sounded like she was mere strides away, but all Eggabell can see are the pine trees, bowing in the wind, frosted branches twisted out of shape by the storm.

“Liz, where are you?” She calls. Her voice sounds tiny, barely audible over the gale. “Liz… I’m here, Liz. I’m here, please…”

Her own footprints surround her. Everything looks the same.

“Liz…”

The wind howls.

“I’m here, Liz… Where are you?”

The pines creak, frozen sap snapping like broken bones. The blizzard rages. There’s no reply.

* * *

“Bell?”

Eggabell opens her eyes. The pillow under her cheek is damp. Liz is looking at her with concern filling her big brown eyes, early morning light shining through the bedroom curtains.

“You’re crying,” Liz says, reaching up to gently wipe one of Eggabell’s cheeks with her thumb. “Is everything alright?”

Eggabell places her paw on the back of Liz’s, focusing on its comforting weight, present and warm and real. The scars and callouses on Lizbert’s palms that she knew as well as an old bedtime story. “…just a nightmare.”

Liz gently wraps her other arm around Eggabell and pulls her in closer, chin resting on top of her head. “I’ve got you,” she murmurs. Her claws comb through the downy fur on the back of Eggabell’s neck. The motion makes Eggabell’s heart flutter in her chest, dousing any lingering embers of terror from her dream. She flips her pillow over to the dry side and settles back down in Liz’s arms. Maybe she’d sleep in today.\


End file.
